


The State of the Arctic

by pand_em_onium



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon parallels, M/M, Military AU, Secret Santa 2018
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 14:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17367791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pand_em_onium/pseuds/pand_em_onium
Summary: Hank Anderson is a Lieutenant in the United States Army and finds himself in the frigid North, on the front lines of a territory dispute with the Russians. Things can't get much worse until he's assigned a new prototype RK800 that is being field tested by Cyberlife.





	The State of the Arctic

**Author's Note:**

> The trope/genre was shooter/adventure, so my mind went shooter > military > Army AU. I know next to nothing about how the army actually operates, so please just chalk up any glaring inaccuracies to the fact that things are different 20 years in the future. 
> 
> This was meant to be just a collection of little moments between them, but I got a little carried away...

Hank already had a million reasons to hate androids and the fact that he was stuck in the arctic freezing his nuts off helping to oversee what amounted to a pissing contest between the US and Russia over whatever fucking mineral kept the bastards running did nothing to make him like the damn things any more. There were very few humans required for the job, just a few dozen unlucky sons of bitches like him spending their days in the mess to try and siphon heat from the proximity of the stove when they weren’t on duty. 

Not that being on duty meant much of anything in this fucking place. Really they were all just here as a roadblock to make sure the Russki’s didn’t help themselves to… Hank wasn’t sure what. Minerals, apparently, but whether they were in the pale gray rock formations that made up the landscape or in the ice itself was beyond him. 

The androids he was here to help oversee were mostly RK500’s and RK600’s. There were a few of the newer RK700 models around, too, but most of those were deployed in the Middle East still trying to clean up the mess the world had made when Hank was a kid himself. He’d served a good amount of time there himself, and all this cold powdery nonsense that managed to seep into his very bones made him miss the gritty sand he’d sworn off 20 years ago. 

There were barracks set up for the hundreds of androids deployed in the tundra, filled to the brim for efficiency’s sake with charging ports. One of the android barracks could hold at least a dozen more bodies than the ones designed for humans; the benefits of not needing beds or personal space, Hank supposed, though the thought of being penned in like a sardine made him uncomfortable. 

As he picked his way through the camp, furiously rubbing his hands together and scowling at the tears freezing at the corners of his eyes from the sting of the wind, Hank noticed Captain Fowler shepherding someone between the mess hall and one of the barracks. His vision was too blurred and they were too far away for him to make out details, but if there was some new rookie sucker he was not in the mood to meet him.

Picking up speed for the last few yards, Hank ducked into the mess and patted the layer of snow off his jacket and hood as he peeled it back in the entryway. A couple enlisted men looked up at him from their steaming mugs of coffee; he could feel the way his hair was plastered to the top of his head but couldn’t be bothered to care much about it. Who the hell did he have to impress, anyway? Ignoring his audience, Hank trudged further inside to get a cup of coffee for himself. 

This far-flung outpost was too small to have separate dining halls for the officers and enlisted personnel, so he found himself sharing meals with shitheads like Gavin Reed on a more regular basis than he would have liked. Hank considered himself pretty down to earth and didn’t exactly consider himself better than any of the rest of his fellow soldiers, but it would have been nice to have an excuse to stay the hell away from the snot-nosed little suck up. Half his demerits came from arguing with the twerp, who he could hear stage-whispering about him. 

As satisfying as it would have been to dump the scalding coffee over his head, Hank didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being the warmest one in the room so he settled for a glare in Reed’s direction before retreating to a table as far away from the door as he could manage before collapsing into the chair.

Fingers curling around the warm ceramic, Hank let his head hang. Melted ice crystals dripped down his hair and onto his hands and the table, darkening the wood grain. He watched, letting his gaze shift into middle distance. The way the water soaked into the table made the spots look almost red, as though the military would ever shell out for something as expensive as cherry wood for their dining halls. Still, there was a sort of rust color that each drop made richer and he watched the wet patch grow larger as the warmer temperature melted the remaining snow off his clothes.

The pattern looked… familiar and somehow deeply unsettling. It looked a little bit like blood. Hank was used to seeing that, or should be considering he was a career soldier. It wouldn’t shake him so badly if it wasn’t for the fact that the last time he’d seen actual blood splatter, it was Cole’s. 

Hank’s daze ended abruptly when his whole body jerked, arms jumping like live wires and spilling the cooling coffee over the surface of the otherwise empty table. He could tell he’d been sitting like that for some time by the fact that it was only a little more than lukewarm. “Fucking hell…” he swore under his breath, eyes briefly sweeping the room to gauge who had seen him. The few others in the room paying attention only glanced at him with mild concern other than Reed, who was already doing his best impression of a hyena.

Hard to believe the kid used to look up to him. So much for respecting your mentor. 

One of the RK600’s who occasionally arrived to take stock of supplies in the mess hall rushed over with a handful of napkins. Her pretty face seemed so alien in that moment, perfect enough to fall into uncanny valley territory, that Hank recoiled. “I don’t need any damn help, go count cans or something,” he snapped, snatching the napkins from her hand. 

The RK600 frowned, her LED briefly spinning yellow as she remained frozen in place before she stood up straight and nodded. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” she murmured before turning to leave. Her expression almost looked… hurt. Hank decided he was still seeing things and put all his attention into sopping up the spilled coffee. 

\---

It wasn’t entirely untrue that there was nothing to do out here. They kept constant tabs on the Russian presence, calculated their coordinates and likely next steps, recorded any moves they made and attempted to suss out likely supply lines or next moves. It was the slowest game of chicken, occasionally broken up by some rising tension between their respective Presidents that called for some strategic maneuvering whenever the Russians got a little too close to territory that wasn’t theirs. 

This was just one of several similar outposts that loosely watched the border of the territory President Warren had outlined as being most crucial. It was the largest of the group, being closest to the enemy border. Hank was second only to Fowler, who oversaw the operation of the outpost as a whole. Being second in command didn’t really have any perks; he was essentially the Captain’s bitch and outranking everyone else there didn’t really make that any more pleasant.

Feeling like he’d had enough of being in public, Hank finished cleaning the mess off the table and filled his thermos before shouldering open the door to retreat back into the biting cold in the direction of his cabin. Really, that was just a fancy word for the glorified outhouse it was, but at least it was his. 

He’d barely left a footprint in the snow before Fowler was calling his name. It took all his willpower and a strained muscle in his jaw to just grit his teeth and turn to face his Captain when he was addressed. With narrowed eyes, Hank assessed the guest he’d seen with Fowler earlier and it was quickly made apparent that the new rookie sucker was, in fact, a rookie android with an expression far too pleasant for their surroundings. His face was outlined in a soft blue glow reflecting off the hood of his parka, a similar blue band around his arm further cementing his designation as a non-human entity.

“It looks like we’re in luck. This is Lieutenant Anderson. He’ll be showing you the ropes.” Fowler didn’t bother with a proper introduction, clipped tone making it clear he was irritated at how long Hank had been able to avoid him, however inadvertently. 

Clipped tone or not, Hank wasn’t easily cowed. “What ropes? He’s an android; all his ropes are pre-programmed,” he griped, each word culminating in a cloud of frosty air. 

“I think I’ll let it speak for itself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” Fowler spun and headed the other direction almost before he’d finished speaking, leaving Hank with the new guy. Android. Whatever.

He wanted to yell at Fowler’s retreating back, but it wouldn’t buy him much privacy. Let the bastard think he had the last word; Hank was going back to his cabin to get warm. The android could figure it out on its own; there were plenty of others to give it a tour. 

“Hello, Lieutenant. My name is Connor, I’ve been sent by Cyberlife for field testing. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the android spoke in a voice deeper than Hank had anticipated. Hank heard the footsteps behind him as it moved to keep pace with his long strides. “The Captain said I would be reporting directly to you and that you would be the best person to learn from.”

The damn thing sounded so earnest Hank almost forgot he wasn’t interacting with a human. “Here’s something you can learn - keep your mouth shut and stay out of my way.” Having finally reached his cabin, Hank pulled the door open, shutting it behind him in the android’s face.

The cabin had been cozy before - a dog bed, a space heater, a bed, a desk, a set of drawers for his clothes and personal effects and a small corner closet. Stepping inside now, Hank instantly felt cramped and it didn’t take much to figure out why. An android charging port had been installed along the wall opposite his bed.

Normally a Cyberlife military-grade android wouldn’t need frequent charging, considering they were often among the most advanced models in circulation. Something about the constant freezing temperatures and the effort it took to keep their bodies warm enough to keep the blue blood from freezing meant those deployed in the arctic needed nightly charges to operate optimally.

That didn’t explain why one of the god-forsaken things was sitting in his personal quarters, though.

Hank turned and whipped open the door fast enough that he caught the android’s arm raised to knock. “Oh, Lieutenant, I meant to-”

“Why the hell is there a charging port in my cabin?” Crossing his arms, Hank leaned into the android’s space, making himself as imposing as he could manage.

Connor didn’t look at all intimidated. “The Captain advised the android barracks are already at capacity and that he feels we would be a more effective team if we cohabitated,” he explained calmly.

“Team for what!?” Hank snapped, slowing becoming aware that he was missing something.

“I am a prototype RK800. I’ve been sent for field testing by Cyberlife to determine if an advanced model android would be capable of low level leadership and tactical proficiency.”

It took a few moments of fish-mouthed gaping for Hank to process what the damn thing was spewing at him. “Cyberlife’s trying to do too damn much. My bunk’s crowded enough as is, I don’t need you leeching the only free space I have.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but as you can see I take up very little space myself. I’m sure we can come to an amicable resolution.”

Hank blinked a few times, certain he had snow in his eyes, making him see things. There was no way the little bastard was actually smiling at him.

\--

Lieutenant Anderson had been sharing his cabin with Connor for a month before Captain Fowler seemingly grew tired of the Lieutenant’s complaining. He sent them out to scout the perimeter with a lazy excuse that amounted to the Captain all but outright admitting he just wanted the pair of them out of his hair.

The perimeter was denoted by a loosely formed collection of rocky outcroppings along the cracked glacier that made up this part of the arctic. Lieutenant Anderson had his gloved hands shoved in his armpits for warmth, jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering.

Connor felt downright perky as he took in the new surroundings outside the camp he had grown accustomed to. He had heard about what the arctic was like outside the camp from his interactions with the RK600 and RK700 models he had come to know in the last month. The camp was set up in an easily defensible position surrounded by high walls of stone and ice, and though the features present in the landscape near the perimeter were the same as in camp, it was still pleasant to see how wide and open the arctic was outside of the home base he’d been assigned to. 

A good number of androids deployed in the arctic were sent further afield to harness the minerals used to create thirium. It seemed a waste of military resources, but given the hostility present in the area, it was determined too dangerous to send civilian androids to the areas closest to the border between the US and Russia. Two dozen went missing or were found damaged before this new use of military androids was approved. Connor’s orders hadn’t granted him the opportunity to leave the base thus far, and he was enjoying the scenery. 

It was painfully obvious that the Lieutenant, however, was not.

The taller man kept shooting sidelong glances at him and Connor wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “Can I help you with something, Lieutenant?” He asked finally, deciding the best course of action was to address the situation directly.

A burst of chill air clouded the space in front of the Lieutenant’s face as he huffed in response, not answering right away. Connor began to think he wasn’t going to and had already turned his attention to the landscape again by the time his partner spoke. 

“Guess Cyberlife must’ve finally figured out how to manufacture a cold-resistant android. You’re not bothered by this at all, are you?” There was something accusatory about his expression as the older man turned his head to look at Connor directly. 

“That’s not true at all, Lieutenant. I’m just as susceptible to the cold as the rest of the RK line, for the most part. I’ve been monitoring my internal temperature to make sure my thirium and other biocomponents don’t freeze and I’m at a satisfactory level.” As he was speaking, he’d been confident that his answer was clear and concise, but seeing the Lieutenant’s expression shift as though he’d said something incomprehensible made him second guess himself. “...Lieutenant?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine so you can tell when you’re about to get android frostbite, but that still doesn’t explain why you’re acting like we’re just going for a nice spring walk.” Though he hadn’t thought it possible, the older man grew even more agitated looking. 

“I can’t… really feel a difference in temperature. I’m aware of what the temperature is, and I know it is colder out here than in your cabin, but I cannot physically tell the difference. I’m only aware of it in the sense that I know certain temperatures can be damaging.”

The silence between them felt heavy as the Lieutenant took the time to process that information. When Connor chanced another glance at the older man, from what he could gather of his expression behind his hair and outer protective layers, he looked… disappointed?

“...yeah, of course. Should’ve figured. Why build an android that can feel the cold?” The question sounded hypothetical, spoken more to himself than for Connor’s benefit.

“I am built with an option to activate temperature sensitivity. But it would be a distraction and hinder my capability to function,” Connor explained further, latching on to the conversation. It was difficult to get much of anything out of Lieutenant Anderson, and he was eager to keep him talking.

That seemed to have piqued the older man’s attention, because he straightened and looked at Connor, as if assessing him in a different light. “That so? You think the Russki bastards thought to install something like that in their androids?” There was an implication in the question that Connor found curious. It wasn’t just an offhand question; it sounded like the Lieutenant was actually curious about Russian-made androids.

“I’m not sure. It would make sense not to, considering they are more used to extreme conditions. They do not run off thirium the way Cyberlife’s androids do. What exactly keeps them running is a closely guarded secret, but they do not freeze or lock up in the cold the way we would.” It felt good to have an actual conversation with the older man like this. He must have said something wrong, though, because Lieutenant Anderson stopped walking and turned to face Connor with his eyes narrowed.

“If they don’t run off that shit, why the hell are we out here defending whatever mineral crap they make blue blood with?” There was an edge to his words, and Connor felt himself holding his arms out, placating.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Lieutenant. I assume it has something to do with manufacturing times. Cyberlife is able to manufacture androids much more efficiently. My understanding is that it is also difficult to repair damaged Russian androids, whereas our biocomponents are easier to replace thanks to the thirium.” Now that he got to thinking about it, Connor had the same questions as the Lieutenant. Of course, the discovery and distillation of thirium intrigued the entire world, but what would it do for Russian androids? Just knowing how to create thirium wouldn’t necessarily help considering they were constructed entirely differently as well. There had to be something else at play here, but Connor didn’t have enough evidence to compose a reasonable hypothesis.

Grunting, the Lieutenant decided the conversation had run its course and turned back around. “Come on. Let’s get this over with before my knees freeze in place.” Though he was complaining, Connor couldn’t help but notice that the Lieutenant didn’t sound nearly as grouchy as he had previously. Though he had no reason to believe it was true, Connor liked to think it was because of their conversation.


End file.
